


Strange Little Girl

by kcstories



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: Community: riddle_gifts, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-07-17
Updated: 2008-07-17
Packaged: 2017-10-10 13:04:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/100083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kcstories/pseuds/kcstories
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Unbeknownst to her friends, Luna travels back in time in an attempt to stop Tom Riddle or to at least reason with him. It's a last resort, and more risky than she anticipated.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Strange Little Girl

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: Explicit sexual content (participants are under 18 but over the age of consent in their jurisdiction), AU elements (purposely takes liberties with canon), time travel, very mild violence.   
> Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros. Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.   
> A/N: Written as a gift for mandya06, who requested 'the classic time travel story' for this pairing.

_Somewhere in the distance, a clock is ticking._

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

It's the only sound to be heard in the abandoned dungeon room besides the frantic rhythm of her racing heart.

A twist, a pull, and she spirals down into darkness.

This wasn't planned. This isn't permitted. 

She'll be in so much trouble if this backfires, but there is too much at stake. She can't afford to let some random restrictions stop her.

***

The moment he first spots her is also the first time he wonders whether she's actually there. 

She looks almost ethereal, her long hair too blond and her wide eyes too bright in the fast flickering light of the drowning candle. 

He has no clue how she got in, how she was able to sneak into the Restricted Section without him noticing. 

Could it be that he was too wrapped up in his research? If so, he really ought to take better care and pay more attention to his surroundings. 

He can't risk being discovered. That would ruin everything; years and years of meticulous planning.

He steals another discreet glance in her direction.

She reminds him of an angel, or she might do if he actually believed in celestial beings, or in the very concept of heaven.

He doesn't. 

He hasn't believed in anything for a long time; except in his great plan, his destiny.

She continues watching him. Her prickling gaze makes the hair at the back of his neck stand up—how utterly distracting.

Then it hits him. Is that what she is; some deliberate distraction?

She must be. 

He has never seen her at Hogwarts before, and she is nowhere near transparent enough to be a ghost. 

Her presence was probably Dumbledore's idea.

Yes, it would be just like the meddling coot to go behind Dippet's back and persuade some pretty girl to spy and to try and dissuade Tom in any way she can, all for 'the greater good', of course.

Tom sneers. Really now. How naïve. Not to mention rather insulting. He's scarcely that weak, or that easily tempted. 

The girl probably isn't even a pureblood. 

She might be a Veela, however. Judging by appearances, she does seem to possess some of the characteristics.

That thought almost makes him laugh out loud. 

Almost, for 'loud' is not an option here. Getting caught is just about the last thing he needs.

He takes a few more notes, and then he neatly folds the piece of parchment and puts it in his robe pocket.

She is standing by the door as he strides towards it. 

She opens her mouth, but he speaks first. "For future reference," he tells her with a mocking sneer, "you got the uniform wrong." 

He's out the door before she gets the chance to reply.

***

_They all claimed that he was bad from the start—rotten to his very core—and that the world would have been better off had someone thrown him from a cliff right after he was born._

"Maybe we ought to travel back in time; kill the bastard while he's still in nappies." 

Ron was joking. Wasn't he? Luna had no means of being certain.

She remains doubtful today, no matter how many times she replays the words in her mind.

Sarcasm and irony tend to go right over her head. Say what you mean and mean what you say—why is that such a difficult concept for some people?

"Oh honestly, Ronald! Surely you can't be suggesting we murder a helpless infant?"

"And why not, Hermione? We know what he'll turn into eventually, the vile creature he'll become."

"Yes, but"—a brief pause, then a nervous cough—"a baby is completely innocent, and…"

Luna would tune out when they reached that part. 

It was always a new variation on the same tired old theme. On and on the endless bickering went, until both parties had ran out of ammunition and steam, and once again, a tense silence reigned.

Luna couldn't help pondering, though. 

So many people had already been killed. Countless others were badly wounded. St.Mungo's was almost at full capacity.

She knew that more casualties were inevitable, and something about Ron and Hermione's rows had started her thinking.

There was still a Time-Turner in the building, one her friends didn't know about. It was hidden away in a vault on the second floor.

Myrtle had told her about it the previous week.

When Ron and Hermione first started having those fights, Luna would try to reason with them.

All her attempts to make peace proved useless, however, and seeing two of her dearest chums at each other's soon became too painful.

So she began spending more free time by herself, wandering all around the castle. 

One night, she accidentally bumped into Myrtle in some out-of-order bathroom.

The ghost needed a sympathetic ear. Luna was only too happy to oblige, and the two girls became friends.

Luna loves having friends. She feels one can never have enough of them.

As she stands here today, hidden behind a moth-ridden tapestry, quietly observing Tom Riddle, she wonders about Myrtle and what might have become of the girl if she hadn't been killed. Would she have found happiness in the end?

Changing the course of history is a rather daunting concept when Luna thinks about it, so she tries not to. 

This is merely what must be done, and perhaps none of the others is willing to handle this matter peacefully, but she is.

More violence is never the answer.

***

The following day, the mysterious girl is on his mind far more than Tom would like. 

Perhaps he should ask Minerva about her. If any of the students knows anything about this, she probably does. Then again, broaching the topic with her would be such a nuisance. 

Gryffindors always have to meddle where they don't belong, and Minerva is the worst of them all. Ever since she became Head Girl she seems convinced she has acquired additional nagging rights, too.

If he were to mention the girl in the library, Minerva would ask too many questions in return, especially if Headmaster Dippet never confided in her. 

Tom can practically hear the waterfall of words already.

_"A girl? Really? Where did you see her? The library, you say? Interesting. Tell me, though, what were you doing there at that time of night?"_

He grits his teeth. Perhaps Minerva would even go so far as to imply he has a romantic interest. The very thought almost makes him spit in disgust.

It looks like he'll have to figure out the girl's identity for himself; make a few discreet enquiries, pay a nightly visit to the Professors' lounge.

But, hang on…

An endeavour like that would equally distract him from his true goals, wouldn't it?

Tom sneers. Dumbledore is smarter than he looks; he'll give the conniving bastard that much credit.

All things considered, perhaps the best course of action would be to ignore her, and if she ends up becoming too much of a burden, he'll just make her disappear.

She doesn't belong here to begin with. 

He may not know any of the specifics, but that much is crystal clear. Something about her feels… 'off'.

***

_She should feel put out, she supposes, or offended that all he ever gives her is a condescending sneer. _

Just as well that she has grown accustomed to mockery, to the point where she has also become immune to it. 

Ridicule is just another symptom of people's ignorance she can easily shrug off.

Still, she finds it rather a shame how that ugly sneer clouds his handsome face.

She wonders what he looks like when he's smiling a genuine smile, instead of spouting his usual smirk that's both condescending and calculated.

She has a feeling that he can be quite charming if he wants to be, but only if it serves some kind of purpose. Spontaneity is probably something he gave up on long ago.

She keeps her distance as she observes him. 

She doubts that he has any friends, which is odd, when she stops to think about it. 

She was told he was quite popular at sixteen, a stellar student, adept at wrapping everyone around his finger—with the exception of Professor Dumbledore who distrusted him from the start. 

She has to ask herself how it ever came to this.

Monsters are created over time, not born that way.

That's what her father always says, and he is usually right about such things. 

***

That night, he finds her waiting for him outside the library doors.

"There is absolutely nothing wrong with my clothes, you know," she tells him matter-of-factly, like it's still yesterday and they'll just continue their conversation where they left off.

He realises he shouldn't reply. It would be wiser to just ignore her, but it goes against his nature not to argue back. It's a matter of principle. He won't allow himself to be outdone, especially by someone who's obviously so much weaker than he is.

"Yes, there is," he says, and makes a vague gesture with his hands. "Your robes are too short, the blue is a shade too light, and I'm quite certain that wearing those ridiculous earrings goes against school regulations."

Her eyes widen. "Oh, now I understand," she replies, sounding far too cheerful to his liking. "Well, the thing is: I'm from the future—about fifty years into the future, actually—and yes, I suppose it would make sense that the uniforms underwent some changes over the years. They wouldn't have changed with the frequency that Muggle fashion does, but even Hogwarts moves with the times… Well, sometimes, in some ways. Though this place is more like a world in itself, isn't it?"

Tom blinks. Once. Twice. Three times. No, the girl definitely isn't a ghost. She must be a relative of Dumbledore's. That might explain why she is a few currants short of a bun. 

"No doubt your theories are fascinating," he says, "but I'm afraid I have work to do."

If she gets the point that she's being dismissed, she chooses to ignore it. 

He is unaware that she has followed him in until she speaks again. "Are you quite certain you want to go through with this? It's not exactly… safe, you know."

He turns around. "Go through with what?" he hisses. It takes all his self-control not to lash out at the girl and slap that pretty face so hard she would flee from the room, crying.

Her tone is still light—infuriatingly so—as she replies, "Making Horcruxes. If you split your soul and pieces of it end up scattered all over the place, you'll end up less than human."

His jaw drops. He loses his cool and calculated demeanour. The time has come to finally put an end to this ridiculous game.

He whips his wand out of his robe pocket and pushes it against her neck as he roughly shoves her against the bookshelf. "Enough of this. Who are you and what do you want?"

Luna gasps audibly. The impact of her back slamming against the hard wood knocks the breath out of her. "My name is… Luna Lovegood," she manages in a small voice, "and like I tried to tell you earlier, I came here from the future."

"Oh." He raises an eyebrow. His interest may be piqued, but he doesn't lower his wand. "And what can you tell me about this… future of yours?"

"You die," she states plainly, as though she knows this to be a fact rather than wishful thinking, "but before you do…" 

There is another sharp intake of breath—hers or his own, he cannot tell.

"Yes?"

"You turn into an ugly monster."

***

_She shocked him today, left him furious beyond belief, but at least she also confused him long enough so she could break free and run—and keep running—before he had the chance to do something terrible and desperate. _

Tom Riddle is desperate.

She understands that much now, and it's a well-known fact that desperate people do desperate things. 

She locks the door behind her, leans back against it, takes a few deep, calming breaths and wills herself to stop shaking. 

Perhaps this was a bad idea. Perhaps she should have left the heroics to Harry, or to Hermione, who seemed less set on murder than Ron.

Either way, it's too late for second thoughts.

She can't turn back now. This might be their only chance, and she might be their only hope.

Save the world, or die trying. 

It's not a very Ravenclaw thing to do, but then the Hat did mention Gryffindor too at one point.

***

Tom isn't so gullible as to believe her on her word. 

Her sudden presence might still be part of some trick. All the signs do point towards this being one of Dumbledore's schemes. Trying to appeal to a conscience Tom no longer wishes to possess would be just like him, the misguided fool. 

What kind of a name is 'Lovegood' anyway?

She even sounds like Dumbledore sometimes, all riddles and nonsensical metaphors interchanged with a bluntness he isn't used to, especially coming from a girl.

He has discovered that she doesn't attend any classes and is staying in an abandoned dungeon room. 

An elf takes in her food and tidies up after her. 

Blasted elves. They're almost as bad as Gryffindors, with their pointy ears for better eavesdropping, their skinny feet that make no noise as they sneak around unnoticed, and those impossibly big eyes that never miss a thing.

Damn and blast. There he goes again. Getting all distracted.

He slams the book shut. A loud thud echoes the room. 

He doesn't care about the noise. Not this time. It would give him an excellent excuse to hex whoever comes in.

He vaguely wonders whether Luna will show her face again that night.

She never does.

***

_Luna knows there's someone else she has to see, someone whose welfare has been at the back of her mind ever since she first arrived here._

She nods to herself, and walks up to the girl who is sitting all alone in the Ravenclaw Common Room.

Myrtle may be alive and well, but she doesn't look any more cheerful for it.

Luna knows what will happen soon, or what might if she doesn't intervene. "Hello," she says, smiling.

Myrtle looks up from her textbook, her gaze full of wonder. "Oh? Hello. Do I know you?"

Luna remembers all the things the ghost back home told her, about the bullying by this one girl—Olive—and how lost and lonely she was, and just before she died…. It was such a sad tale, and it was so completely unfair, all of it.

"People tend to mock what they don't understand," Luna offers kindly. "They mostly do so because they're frightened."

Myrtle blinks. "How do you mean? Frightened of what?"

"The unknown; things that are… foreign to them. It's strange. I think mysteries are exciting, be it a thing or a person or some undiscovered creature in a faraway land, but not everyone feels the same."

Myrtle blinks again. "I see," she eventually says, her brow furrowed.

Luna isn't sure that Myrtle actually does understand, but at least the ice is broken. They're talking. 

It's a start. 

***

Tom is sitting in the kitchen the next time she accosts him.

Since he skipped both breakfast and lunch, he decided to help himself to some fresh buns from the pantry. He always has to help himself. The elves make themselves scarce whenever he's around. 

Tom often forgets to eat, and overall considers bodily needs to be secondary to plans of greatness. Feeding his mind is far more important, especially now. All these recent distractions have already cost him too much valuable time.

Luna takes the chair across from him. 

He frowns. The girl no longer seems scared. Perhaps she has a rather selective memory, or maybe he can chalk her apparent bravery up to the fact that even when she's there, a part of her still seems miles away. 

She says 'hello,' and like nothing out of the ordinary happened and he never yelled at her the other day, she starts talking about some strange creature he has never heard of and for that matter, couldn't give a flying Flobberworm about.

Her random monologue is rather strange, but harmless enough, so he remains seated, takes another bite off the still-warm bun and listens to her ramble.

The next words to come out of her mouth almost make him choke.

"Being immortal isn't all it's cracked up to be, I'd wager," she muses in a dreamy tone. "Watching your loved ones die, one after the other, must be devastatingly heartbreaking."

He composes himself, puts the bun on the plate, sneers at her and snaps, "Loved ones? Some people would do well to realise that true power only thrives on solitude."

Luna remains silent. No wonder no one could break him, she thinks. He has been nothing but shards for years.

***

_Down in her dungeon lodgings she can hear the screams so clearly she'd almost think they were coming from next door._

Perhaps they are. So little is known about the exact details of what occurred that night.

(Of what is happening right this minute.)

Luna jumps up from her cosy seat by the fireplace, bolts out the door and as fast as her legs will carry her, starts running in the direction of the noise. She pays little attention to where she's going. There isn't any time. Her blood is pumping in her ears and the screams grow louder and louder as she nears her destination. 

Fear and trepidation grip at her heart. Is it already too late? Has she failed this early down the line? 

Please don't let it be so.

She turns another corner, sprints into the next corridor. 

The screams stop. 

Why did the screams stop?

"Luna," a familiar voice behind her suddenly calls out. 

She halts dead in her tracks, turns around and exhales sharply, as though she's been holding her breath the whole time, even though that would have been physically impossible. 

"Myrtle?" she says as soon as she finds her voice. "Are you all right?"

The girl nods. "Yes, I am, but"—she gestures towards the large door to their right—"someone tried to shove me in there."

Luna gulps. It's the Chamber of Secrets. 

***

Tom slowly slides down against the wall, sinks to his knees and cradles his head in his hands.

The Mudblood escaped, and what's worse, the stupid girl saw…

Well, he isn't entirely certain what she did see, or whether she understood the implications of what was right in front of her eyes, but he fears that perhaps not before long she might put two and two together with the help of that bizarre Lovegood creature or worse, Dumbledore…

_Oh bugger._

Tom would really rather not think about Dumbledore. 

The meddling git would have a field day with this. He'd probably expel Tom faster than he could say 'lemon drop'. He'd jump at the chance to send the young man straight back to the orphanage, or perhaps he'd find some way to get him enrolled into the Muggle army to be shipped off to some faraway place riddled with violence, disease and famine.

There's still a war on, isn't here? Tom doesn't know a whole lot about it, but he's heard the Muggleborns talk.

That's all those worthless specimens seem to be good at; talking. Morning, noon or night, they never shut up.

Tom lets out a long, weary sigh and clenches his fists in frustration.

Sweet Salazar, how could he have been so stupid? He should have Stupefied Myrtle, then she wouldn't have kicked him in the shins and fled, and he wouldn't have had to let her go.

It was odd, though, he considers, how the girl seemed to be on guard, almost as if she was awaiting some immediate danger—no, actively anticipating it. 

It was almost as if someone had warned her… 

Of course. 

Someone did, and why hasn't that crossed his mind before?

"You don't have to go through with this," a chirpy voice pipes up. "It's not too late to change your mind. No real harm has been done. Not yet."

He lifts his gaze to see Luna standing in front of him again. 

She looks unfazed, like this is nothing. Perhaps it isn't to her. 

He grits his teeth. Her naïveté will cost her dearly one day, and if she keeps this up, he'll be right there waiting to collect when the time comes. 

He's on his feet in less than a second. "Harm?" he snaps. "You daft cow, you don't even know the meaning of the word!"

Her eyes widen in innocent confusion. 

The sight only enrages him further. She's too sweet and pure, and people like her, by all rights and purposes, really shouldn't be allowed to exist. They distort the picture of a cruel, cold world and they unwittingly undermine his theory that life is sad and people are evil to the bone and the only way to avoid getting hurt is by striking out first and preferably permanently. 

"I'd watch my every step if I were you," he adds, his tone venomous as he brings his face closer to hers. "Who knows? You might be next, and considerably less lucky than your little Mudblood friend."

She gasps, the wonder in her eyes turns to fear, and she flees the room.

He's surprised to discover that her sudden exit leaves him feeling more regretful than victorious, but he blames it on the confusion he's felt ever since the Lovegood girl first showed up to distract him.

He really ought to do something about her soon, before she gets the chance to ruin everything.

***

_They told her that no one should try to change the course of history. The outcome of attempting to do so might be even more perilous than the disaster one is trying to avoid. _

They claimed that some things in life were better left to fate. 

They kept repeating over and over again that some people are born bad, rotten from the start, and that no good will ever come of them, because 'good' isn't something they are capable of. It's probably not even part of their genetic make-up.

Is such the case for Tom Riddle? 

Perhaps she truly is in over her head here. He has threatened her now, and there is no need to speculate whether he means it. The past—technically the future now, and thank goodness that line of reasoning makes sense to her—holds enough evidence to prove that he doesn't joke about such things.

Does he ever joke about anything? Maybe she was wrong. Maybe he possesses far less humanity than she was hoping for.

And yet…

Something about him seems so lonely and wretched. She can't find it in her heart to believe that he's all bad, not when he's only sixteen. Well, seventeen soon.

No one ever cared about him before. Perhaps he only needs understanding, someone who can love and accept him unconditionally, no matter what.

She sighs deeply. Perhaps she has been going about this all wrong.

***

She doesn't seek him out for days. 

He knows this should please him. To be left alone is precisely what he wanted, and yet…

He finds he can no longer concentrate on the ancient tomes on the desk in front of him.

All they contain are elegant letters on yellowed parchment, 

One word…two… three… four. The fifth is barely legible, but that's not the issue.

He can find no coherence; detect no connection. 

Nothing makes sense anymore.

He can't shake the niggling suspicion that he has been manipulated, or possibly bewitched.

Or perhaps he misjudged—no, _overestimated_—himself. 

Maybe he does still have a shred of conscience left, but if so, that's a weakness he cannot afford. 

Like any other flaw he should stomp it out. Anything less than perfection really won't do.

He should concentrate on the matter at hand, and forget all about that annoying Lovegood girl.

She's irrelevant, nothing but a distraction, and the hope she seems to want to offer him can only lead to despair. Such is hope's only purpose.

He nods to himself, determined that there will be no more of this nonsense. 

He has a plan; a destiny.

He abruptly rises from his chair, which clatters loudly against the marble floor.

He heads out into the corridor and strides up the first flight of stairs.

The time has come. His time.

He pays little attention to who it is, or what her heritage might be. 

None of that matters. Not in this case. 

He has a point to make.

***

_Luna knows that something has changed._

She can tell by the look on his face, the underlying smugness in his expression that wasn't there before.

He is up to something, or he has already undertaken it, and there is only one way to find out what it is.

She looks left and right to be sure that no one's watching. She carefully makes her way down the corridor, and sneaks into his Prefect room.

Elves know a lot of things, including supposedly secret passwords.

Opening the door, she gasps in shock.

In the middle of the room, a girl is tied to a chair; bound and gagged, her brown eyes wide in fear.

Luna wonders how long she is already being held prisoner here, and what Tom intends to do with her. 

The answer to the second question is obvious. He plans to finish what he started. For a Horcrux to be created, blood must be spilled. Someone needs to die.

Luna swallows hard. Her hands are shaking—from anger or fear, she doesn't know. With a flick of her wand, she undoes the ropes and then removes the gag from the girl's mouth. 

Recognising who's sitting in front of her, Luna blinks. 

Luna looked at plenty of old photographs before she came here. She thought that knowing who most people were might help her fit in better.

"You're Olive Hornby," she says, and suddenly the concept of irony almost makes sense.

Too frightened to speak, the girl nods.

Luna takes a deep breath. She normally wouldn't resort to this sort of thing, but in this case, she feels she must. For Myrtle's sake. 

"I'll help you escape, Olive," she says. "That is, on one condition."

The girl blinks. "Y-Yes?" she whispers hoarsely. "What?"

Luna doesn't have it in her to be deliberately menacing, but the pure, unadulterated truth has always been her strongest ally. "If you ever pick on Myrtle again," she replies, "I'll see to it that you're expelled."

Olive frowns. Another time, another place she might have mocked this strange girl for those ridiculous turnip earrings, but here and now, in these circumstances, she can do nothing but nod in agreement. 

Taunting Myrtle was beginning to get quite boring anyway.

***

Tom hasn't the faintest idea how Lovegood managed to enter his room, but there she is, looking innocent to the point of angelic, whereas the Hornby girl is no longer anywhere to be seen.

_Bloody hell._

Trying to mess with his mind wasn't enough, she had to go and actually meddle, too—like a bloody Gryffindor. 

Well, that much would stand to reason. The phoney Ravenclaw uniform didn't fool him for a second.

"Determined little witch, aren't you?" he says, his arms crossed as he looks her up and down.

"Yes," she replies, completely unfazed. "Of course. If you're only going to forfeit anyway, you might as well never start."

"Quite," he says. "So tell me, Miss Lovegood, what would you be willing to do to reach your goal?"

She looks at him, her gaze unwavering beneath his ugly sneer.

"Whatever it takes," she states plainly.

He has never heard sincerer words in his entire life. A life devoid of sincerity, granted, but that's scarcely the point. "Whatever it takes," he repeats.

"Yes."

"What a coincidence." His sneer widens. "You see, so would I."

***

_It would be a lie to say he doesn't scare or worry her. _

She imagines he's looking for Olive this very instant. He wouldn't want the girl to tell anyone what she did.

Not that she would. She made a promise to Luna, and there is no reason to presume she won't keep it.

Tom doesn't know that. 

Luna told her about a secret passage that leads all the way to the safety of Hogsmeade, but Tom isn't aware of that either. 

There are quite a few things Tom is still ignorant about and Luna has no qualms about using the knowledge people have acquired over the past few decades against him.

One way or another, things will be coming to a head soon.

Luna knows. She can tell. 

As she walks back to her room, the silence in the corridor is loud and daunting.

***

Tom shakes his head. He knows he ought to stop paying attention to her.

He can see her role quite clearly now. Not only is she meant to provide a distraction. Her plans also include actual sabotage.

So what is he expected to do? Break down? Give in? Run to the Headmaster and confess?

None of that is going to happen. He's much stronger than that, and he shan't be distracted again.

This morning he's skipping Divination in favour of reading an ancient parchment.

It occurs to him that Lovegood, too, must be absent from a lot of classes. She definitely didn't come to Hogwarts to study, or she wouldn't be able to get away with that, particularly as a newcomer.

Dippet is very strict about such things.

The only reason Tom never gets punished is because he can mess with people's minds and memories. As far as the professors are concerned, he hasn't missed a lesson all year.

He doubts whether Luna is capable of doing the same. She's too innocent for such deception. 

Actually, now that he thinks about it, it might be worth a shot trying out one of those spells on her. 

She's probably down in her room. She rarely leaves it, except to pester him or to spend time with that irritating Myrtle twit.

He rises from his chair, but stops dead in his tracks when he hears a blood-curdling scream.

He doesn't stop to think. He merely acts and hurries in the direction of the noise.

***

_Luna turns around, her mouth agape._

She should have foreseen that Myrtle would try to…

Yes, the girl always was too nosy for her own good.

She tightly grips her wand and takes a deep, fortifying breath.

It's coming closer.

Just a few more steps and…

"No! Run!"

***

The door to the Chamber is wide open.

Tom can only stare as Myrtle bolts out into the corridor, screaming at the top of her lungs.

He shakes his head; trust the silly girl not to leave well enough alone.

More screaming is heard as Luna runs past him, almost dropping her wand along the way.

Inside the murky room, the Basilisk slithers forward at an astonishing speed. 

Momentarily stunned, Tom gulps, but soon basic instincts take over. "Halt!" he hisses in Parseltongue. "Stop it! Return to your lair immediately."

The serpent's reaction is not what he expected. "I will do no such thing. Why should I listen to you? You are _not_ my master. _Not. Outside. Those. Walls._"

Tom swallows hard. This isn't how things are supposed to go. He speaks again, "Hold it right there, or I will kill you!"

If an animal could sneer, this one would. "You wouldn't dare. It would be ssstrategically unsssound. You need me to realise your plans."

Not sparing him another glance, the Basilisk slithers onwards and past him and for a moment, Tom feels as though he's rooted to the spot.

He sees Myrtle standing with her back against the wall, trapped, and not before long, Luna is standing right next to her, eyes wide, hands shaken. 

Again, Tom feels immobilised, stuck. 

Part of him wants to let it happen, the inevitable, two birds killed with one stone; two busybodies dealt with by the giant serpent.

And yet…

There is something about Lovegood's eyes. Something…

_Damn it all to hell._

He grits his teeth as he whips out his wand. He casts the killing curse and before he fully realises what he has done, the Basilisk hits the floor.

A sudden silence settles over the room.

Tom can't move—mustn't move. He can barely breathe. Killing shouldn't feel like this. Where is the glee; the satisfaction?

Not that there is actually anything to rejoice over here. He needed that snake. How on earth is he going to…

Approaching footsteps interrupt his musings. He flinches inwardly when he hears a familiar voice. 

Never ask if things can get any worse, for they instantly shall, if only to spite you.

"Congratulations, Mister Riddle. It would seem that you have saved the school from no uncertain disaster."

Tom turns around.

"Though you would have done well to call for help once you saw that… creature, rather than go after it all by yourself."

Tom feels himself pale. "Well, I would have done, Sir, but when I heard the screaming and saw Myrtle and Lovegood—" He pauses to take a breath.

"Whom do you claim you saw, Mister Riddle?" Dippet asks slowly, carefully.

At the sight of the Headmaster's confused frown, Tom turns around again, to point out where Luna and Myrtle are standing.

The girls are no longer anywhere to be seen.

***

_"Look on the bright side," she says, sauntering into his room._

He doesn't seem terribly surprised at her sudden re-appearance. "There _is_ a bright side?" he asks, his voice dripping with mockery.

"Of course," she replies, plopping herself down next to him onto the small sofa. "There wasn't any bloodshed. No one died except that snake, and even though I like snakes normally and most certainly wouldn't advocate killing them in regular circumstances, Hogwarts is much better off without that one." She gives him a pointed look and adds, "Furthermore, and most importantly, Tom, your soul has been saved. It's still whole. You're in no immediate danger of becoming a Dark Lord."

He shakes his head and sighs. He looks utterly miserable.

"This really is a good thing," she assures him. "And I intend to make certain that no other bad things happen to you, either."

He looks at her then, his dark eyes flaring with angry frustration. "You're worried about bad things happening to me? To me?! You're a silly little girl, and you don't know the first thing about—"

She shrugs it off. "What do any of us know, Tom? Really?" 

He shakes his head. "Kindly do enlighten me, Miss Lovegood, if I were to point my wand in your general direction and to call you 'Riddikulus', would you go away?"

She frowns. "I beg your pardon?"

"I was merely enquiring as to whether you are in fact some kind of Boggart. It might explain a few things if you were."

She smiles. He looks so lost and weary, it's almost endearing. "No. I'm just a silly little girl. See?" 

She kisses him then, and the whole world falls away.

***

He can hardly believe it. 

She is kissing him. 

The first girl to ever kiss him, and it has to be this… _nutter _who claims to be from the future.

If there is such a thing as fate, it has a sick sense of humour.

Tom has consciously avoided romantic entanglements up until now. They only make one weak, and inevitably lead to disaster.

(Just look at his poor mother.)

Nonetheless, this feels… oddly right.

He vaguely wonders how Luna got into his room, how she always manages to get in. He changed the password just this morning. 

Perhaps he'll ask her later.

Later, because right now…

She moves onto his lap and wraps her arms around his neck.

He should protest, make her stop. He's well aware of that. This is hardly proper, scarcely _appropriate_. 

"Where did you go?" He must ask now, before he gets carried away. 

She blinks in obvious confusion. "Go?"

"In the corridor when the Headmaster showed up. You and Myrtle suddenly vanished into thin air."

"Ah. No." She smiles. "We didn't actually go anywhere. We were just hiding under Harry Potter's Invisibility Cloak. I carry it with me at all times. I shrink it first, obviously. It'd be such a dreadful nuisance otherwise. School robes only have so many pockets and they can't hold nearly as much as they ought to."

Tom almost laughs. _An Invisibility Cloak._ Well, why not? It makes about as much sense as anything else she has said so far. 

What she seems to lack in sanity, she certainly makes up for in imagination, and as it turns out, in other areas as well…

The fingers of her left hand are dancing over his right thigh. 

He inhales sharply. She is affecting him more than she should, more than is wise for him to allow.

He can't deny that she's beautiful, and although he'd prefer to ignore the fact, he is only human, a young man with urges and needs, and he's curious and definitely… interested. 

She kisses a line across his jaw, all the way to his ear. Her fingers walk higher up his thigh. 

_God, no one has ever… _

Still, he should send her on her merry way. This is foolish, irresponsible.

(This cannot end well.)

She kisses him again, full on the mouth. 

He responds automatically, even though he has never done anything like this before.

True enough, Tom has his fair share of female admirers, but none of them has ever captured his interest. The only possible exception he once considered was Minerva, but he soon decided she'd be too much trouble in the long run.

Gryffindors are always trouble.

Not that Lovegood is necessarily a better match for him of course, logically speaking. 

The girl is strange and unpredictable. Her grip on reality is tenuous at best, and Tom highly doubts she understands even the first thing about politics. 

Then again, the latter might turn out to be an advantage. It would be easy to nurture this bubble she lives in, if she decides to stick around and he chooses to keep her.

To keep her—is that even an option? 

He doesn't know, and in this very moment, he struggles to care about anything beyond here and now and _this_.

He places his hands on her shoulders, pulls her closer and kisses her, almost plundering her mouth.

She's out of breath when they break apart. So is he.

"Do you want to sleep with me?" she asks. Her tone is casual, like she just asked him whether he prefers pumpkin juice or coffee.

"Why?" is the only reply he can manage.

She shrugs. "It might be fun, and it's not as though you'll be able to do any research tonight. There are Aurors all over the castle, just in case there's a whole nest of those creatures hiding someplace."

"That breed of Basilisk doesn't nest," he says.

She shrugs again. "I suppose the Aurors aren't aware of that. But can you blame them? They don't know how to talk to snakes like you do, and they have more important things to research as well, I imagine."

He sneers. From confused to clever in ten seconds. She is certainly unusual.

Here in the half-light, she is also quite attractive, and her body, so close to his, feels warm and soft.

Her wide eyes look at him in question. "So do you want to?"

He raises an eyebrow. This is sheer foolishness, let there be no doubt about that, but perhaps he can afford to be foolish, to let his guard down, just for one night. 

"Have you done this before?" he asks her, careful to keep his tone neutral.

"Yes," she says. "Four times." A pause. "Have you?"

"Of course." The lie slips past his lips as seamlessly as any other. "Perhaps we should take this to the bed?" 

She nods, and moves off his lap. 

She slowly walks towards the four-poster, quickly shedding her clothes along the way.

Feeling more self-conscious than he'd like, he follows her example.

He knows what to do, at least in theory. He has read a few books on the subject, the kind of literature even the Restricted Section doesn't carry. They did very little for him at the time. He didn't understand what all the fuss was about. Sex with another person seemed rather complicated and messy. He could easily take care of his teenage urges himself.

A real girl, however, soft and warm and enticing, he is beginning to discover is rather different from anything he has read. 

Her hands run down his bare back. 

He lets his own wander over her breasts, slowly, gently. 

She shuts her eyes and sighs deeply. She's enjoying this.

He leans in again and kisses her on the mouth.

What follows is a blur of caresses and kisses until she's lying down against the pillows with him hovering over her. 

He pauses, just briefly. 

She seems to sense his hesitation. She takes his hand and guides it in between her legs. "Touch me, Tom."

Her free hand grasps his cock. He swallows thickly. His breath hitches. This girl is utterly shameless, and clearly very eager.

Determined not to be outdone—he'll be damned if he lets her take charge, and he certainly won't give her the opportunity to complain to Myrtle tomorrow either—he starts moving his fingers. Slow, fast, slow again.

His mouth seeks out a nipple, hard and pink. He flicks his tongue over it, and then sucks lightly. 

She moans. 

He resists the urge to grin, and slides a finger inside her. He's surprised at how warm and soft and wet she feels. He imagines sinking his cock into that moist heat and he groans in anticipation.

"You can shag me now," she whispers, "if you want to."

_If he wants to._ He smirks. Luna isn't one for romance. How oddly refreshing. Definitely not like the other girls at all.

"It's easier if I get on all fours, " she says, "then you can stroke me at the same time. Besides, that way you can go deeper too. I've been told it's nicer; for the boy, I mean."

"Deeper," he parrots.

"Yes, that's what Dean said."

Tom hasn't a clue who this Dean might be, but he already hates him with the passion of a thousand burning suns. "Right," he says.

Luna smiles. "Sorry if I seem straightforward. I suppose it's not what you're used to, since these are the nineteen-forties and such, but you see, I hear so many girls complain about sex, but they never actually tell the boy what they like, and so he never…" She trails off. "You don't mind, do you?"

"Straightforward is fine," he tells her. His voice is hoarse and even to his own ears, sounds kind of foreign. He has never felt this strong an arousal before. Of course she doesn't necessarily need to know anything about that. "All fours, you say?"

"Yes."

"All right."

She changes positions and grabs hold of the headboard. 

Placing one hand on her hip, he slowly pushes himself inside her. He lets out an involuntary moan. The sensation is so intense, he can barely breathe.

"It's okay to move, Tom. I have done this before."

Feeling slightly foolish, he thrusts once, and grits his teeth in an attempt to retain control. 

Twice.

Three times.

"Touch me again," she whispers. "Like before. Please."

Her softly spoken plea makes his cock twitch. He moves his hand from her hip and seeks out the spot that made her moan earlier. Then he pushes himself in and out of her again, gradually increasing the pace.

Again, she moans. It's practically a scream this time.

He can't help thinking that this is wrong—twisted, a sign of weakness. 

And yet…

Perhaps he can also consider it a time out, a morsel of escapism, and everything will go back to normal tomorrow.

The rhythm they've fallen into increases further. 

She moves back against him—faster, harder—and says, sounding slightly breathless, "You feel amazing inside me. Just. Perfect."

He bites his lip. His sweaty fringe clings to his forehead. He normally hates that sort of thing, but here and now, it's barely an annoyance.

He can feel the familiar tension beginning to build, deep down inside. He won't last much longer. 

He rubs her clit faster, adding just a bit more pressure.

She digs her fingers into the headboard like she's holding onto it for dear life. She moans and throws her head back. "Tom. God, Tom." 

She clenches around him, and before he realises, he's coming too—shuddering from head to toe from the most intense orgasm he has ever experienced. This is so much better than when he touches himself.

He slides out of her and slowly crawls backwards.

She lies down, leaning back against the pillows.

He reaches for a handkerchief to wipe his brow. He'd use magic—a proper cleaning spell—but his head is spinning and he'd hate to get something wrong.

Luna gazes up at him, a dreamy expression on her flushed face. "Wow," she whispers and lets out something that nearly sounds like a giggle, but it's too soft, too.... serene.

Feeling suddenly tired, he lies down, his back turned towards her, and he closes his eyes. 

Just for a moment, he tells himself. 

He knows he shouldn't let her sleep here. That would be too intimate, not to mention that sleeping in the presence of others isn't the wisest thing to do.

Even today, Tom despises shared dorms. Back at the orphanage, some of his things—and he didn't have that many to begin with—always went missing while he was asleep. The phenomenon only stopped when he started putting stinging and burning hexes on his stuff; hexes he seemed to know instinctively. He'd never come across them before. He couldn't have done.

Of course that was years ago and Luna is no thief, but still…

Tom really should ask her to leave.

And he will. 

_Soon._

"Nox," she whispers.

The room goes dark. He feels her spoon against his back. She throws an arm around his waist.

This wasn't part of the plan. None of this was. He knows he should…

_Yes. In a minute._

As if by their own accord, his eyes fall closed, and seconds later, sleep claims him. 

It's peaceful and untraditionally dreamless.

***

_Luna reaches out, drapes an arm across his waist and clasps his hand. _

He doesn't make any move to pull it back.

Whether this is a sign of weakness, regret or merely fatigue, she cannot tell.

She closes her eyes and snuggles up against the warm body that will probably be gone by morning.

Today might be either the end or the beginning; she has no way of knowing which.

He might still decide to change his mind, or perhaps he won't.

Either case, she has done what she could. She tried her utmost to make him see, to make him feel. She gave him a glimpse of something… if not entirely pure, then definitely heartfelt and different.

A choice. 

The rest lies in the fickle hands of fate now, and perhaps this time around, the future will be kinder. 


End file.
